


for the love of your son

by kettish



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Erebor, M/M, Yule, bagginshield, holiday fic, parentshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/pseuds/kettish
Summary: “Bilbo will be a good father to Floí,” Thorin said, “and so will I. We all know I’ve no interest in siring my own heirs--I already have two that have just fought through a great battle with accolades. Floí will not be in the line of succession, but we will honor his family’s sacrifice by making their son a prince.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yubiwamonogatari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/gifts).



The Battle of Five Armies, scribes and historians would record it, though Bilbo often had a difficult time keeping the five straight. Dwarves, Men, Elves, Eagles, and Orcs, he’d usually get around to eventually--he always forgot to count the Orcs, since they weren’t a friendly force. Whatever name it was given it had been horrendous beyond telling, though those same scribes would try their best. 

 

Countless lives had been lost. Bilbo and Thorin and the rest of their friends mourned with the Mountain, Dale, and the Greenwood, but none mourned more perhaps than wee Floí. He was a promising little lad, far too young to be without family, but when Erebor called for aid, his family had answered from a caravan passing a day away. He’d been left with the healers behind the lines during the battle, and nobody had returned for him when it ended.

 

“He’s none to take him,” Oin had grunted, rubbing his bad shoulder thoughtfully as he often did. “The others in his group all arrived today, said his parents were all that was left after Smaug.” Thorin sighed heavily, wiping his big hands down his face and pressing his heels to his eyes to try and relieve some of the strain of being awake far, far too long.

 

Thorin had missed a killing stroke from Azog by inches and was still instructed to stay in bed for the time being, but was awake and able to give directions to Balin, Dwalin, and the rest of the company and the Iron Hills leaders. Oin had been in to check him and change his bandages, but also to bring this matter to his attention--orphans were few and far between in Dwarven societies, rare and sometimes there was much contention regarding who would take in the dwarfling. 

 

“No family at all,” Thorin muttered. That was worst case scenario. Every childless couple in the kingdom would be vying for the right to adopt him, and with Dain’s army here and tensions and energies still high from battle, that could be a mess. 

 

“They’re gone, and he’s alone,” Bilbo murmured from the chair beside his bed, and he glanced up at him. “I know how that feels, Thorin. He needs someone with him soon, to help him understand and come to terms with it all.”

 

“That’s right, it had slipped my mind. You lost your parents young as well. What would be helpful for him, do you think?” Bilbo’s mouth twisted, his lips pursed up as he thought.

 

“He needs someone who will be patient with him,” he said slowly. “They’ll have to be understanding, and have had experience with loss. Not that we have a lack, I suppose. And they’ll need to be able to just...love him, and let him move at his own pace.”

“Nobody who is too invested in appearances, then,” Thorin said. Bilbo nodded dumbly, eyes far, before he opened his mouth again and spoke.

 

“I’ll do it,” Bilbo said.

 

Oin and Thorin looked at him, surprised. Oin checked that his ear trumpet wasn’t clogged while Thorin’s eyebrows rose, delicately, just enough to suggest Bilbo explain himself. Bilbo flushed, realizing he’d spoken and what he’d said.

 

“If--if that’s allowed. I’ll take him. I lost my parents young, I know what that grief feels like. And I’m part of the Company, and you know none of the others were interested in children, remember that evening we all chatted about it? I’ve always liked kids, just could never find someone who could carry them I could stand that long. Thorin, I won’t mess this up, if you can’t I mean I understand but I’d like to--”

 

“In order to adopt, two parents must be present,” Thorin interrupted. Bilbo gasped, quick and small, then deflated as the words penetrated and were processed. “If this is important to you, I will sign as his other guardian.” This time Oin started shaking his ear trumpet vigorously and Bilbo gaped.

 

“You’ve lost your Mahal-thrice-damned mind,” Oin shouted. “What makes you think anyone else is going to allow this?”

 

“Bilbo will be a good father to Floí,” Thorin said, “and so will I. We all know I’ve no interest in siring my own heirs-I already have two that have just fought through a great battle with accolades. Floí will not be in the line of succession, but we will honor his family’s sacrifice by making their son a prince.” Oin stared, mulling it over, before nodding firmly.

 

“That’ll do,” he said. “Ask Balin to draw up the paperwork. Bilbo, let’s go meet your son.” Bilbo swallowed hard, but nodded firmly and standing.

 

“Thorin,” he said softly as Oin walked out. “Thank you.” A smile curved gently behind Thorin’s beard and he reached up to affectionately squeeze Bilbo’s arm in response. 

  
  


Floí was a likeable lad, Bilbo decided as soon as he saw him. Oin would later tell the Company that it was more correct to say BIlbo saw the dwarfling and melted into a puddle of goo vaguely reminiscent of a hobbit, but Bilbo would deny it to his grave. (Except to Thorin, who would tease him about it when they were alone, doing an impression of melting to the ground where Floí would proceed to jump on top of him.)

 

He had beautiful soft downy brown hair that had been braided by a kind medic on break, and little muttonchops growing into what would one day be a respectable beard. Big brown doe eyes set in tanned skin, still considered unusual to underground-dwelling dwarrow, made for the most adorable little dwarf Bilbo had ever clapped eyes on.

 

The poor thing would have been maybe...oh, just out of the toddler stage, really. He was still slightly unsteady and unsure of the world around him, chubby fingers clumsy and clever as he worked on manipulating a tiny stick with metal on one end across a frame with glass on top. On closer inspection Bilbo realized that inside of the frame was a miniature wooden maze, and a small metal ball that followed closely where he traced the pen’s metal end. It was ingenious, and he made a noise of appreciation before he thought twice.

 

“Oh!” the dwarfling yelped. 

 

“Oh my stars I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

 

“Your feet,” the dwarfling breathed, staring down. Bilbo looked down at them, wiggling his toes, and then peeked back up at the boy. “They’re so big! Are you a dwarf? Dwarfs don’t get big feet like that but we get lots of hair, that’s so much hair!”

 

“Floí, this is Bilbo! He’s a hobbit,” Oin said, creaking down to one knee to be closer to him. “He’s going to be taking care of you, he and King Thorin.”

 

Instantly Floí closed off, reaching up to pull at the hair on his cheeks. Oin’s mouth pressed into a line but he soldiered on.

 

“Let’s gather up your things, then, shall we? This tent is going to be taken down soon, since it’s getting cold. We’ll get you both set up in a nice room in Erebor with a fire and some food, eh?” Floí didn’t answer, reaching over to grab his puzzle game instead and go back to playing, and Oin sighed and pushed back up to his feet.

 

“Can’t blame the lad for not wanting to think about it,” he said. “But they will be taking the tent down soon all the same. Let’s get him going.” Bilbo nodded, and they laid Floí’s pitiful few belongings into a clever basket that hooked closed and could then be hoisted onto one’s back. Oin shouldered it while Bilbo gently took the metal-tipped stick from Floi’s hand before tucking it into one of the dwarfling’s pockets, careful so Floí could see he wasn’t trying to take it away, and then took his hand.

 

Even with the size difference between dwarrow and hobbits, Floí’s hand was so much smaller than his. He squeezed the hand in his once, reassuringly, and whispered, “We’re going on an adventure!”

 

Floí looked at him, smiled, and they followed after Oin.

  
  


That evening over their supper, Thorin introduced himself to Floí too, and the awe in the little dwarf’s face was adorable. Bilbo and Thorin found themselves wrapped around the little dwarf’s finger within a few days--Bilbo giving him extra portions of dessert if he asked nicely, Thorin taking him into meetings he might not ought to have been included in for formality’s sake if Floí looked sad enough he was leaving.

 

They took turns watching him, making sure each had time enough to attend their duties (Thorin) or take care of necessary arrangements (Thorin and Bilbo) or just get away from a small child, unused to being around them 24/7 (Bilbo). 

 

It wasn’t until Bilbo caught Thorin in the bath with Floí, splashing water everywhere (thank all the gods for the drains in the floor) and laughing uproariously, mouth open in a wide smile and hair drenched and sticking to his face and shrieking child splashing right back at him, that Bilbo truly realized he loved him.

 

It was both a startling realization and it wasn’t. Bilbo had known and acknowledged that he felt something for Thorin for months, but had been too busy to really...well, do anything about it. Think it over, he supposed. There was no mistaking this well of emotion, this fondness, and happiness, this feeling that was so missed and longed for that it brought tears to his eyes. He loved Thorin, probably had for quite some time, and was raising a child with him.

 

Well, that was well done, he decided. Thorin would never leave Floí behind, and neither would Bilbo, so they would always share that connection at least. Maybe it would be enough until Bilbo could figure out of his feelings were reciprocated...or not.

  
  


Thorin had had a rough few months, between gold sickness, the Battle, recovery, and rebuilding. Yet they had been the most amazing months of his life, spent with Floí, who still grieved at times but also allowed them to comfort him, who was blooming and growing into the dwarf Thorin knew he’d be, and with Bilbo. Bilbo, the very light of his soul, the voice that pierced the darkness, and his fellow father.

 

Bilbo was a wonderful father. He’d not raised children before, unlike Thorin, so at times he was overwhelmed like any new parent. Thorin did his best to step in before it reached that point, remembering how he’d often felt like a failure when he sometimes couldn’t bear to be around Fili and Kili if they’d pushed his buttons hard enough. It was ridiculous, he knew--if you can’t control yourself, remove yourself from the situation, his political tutors had taught him, and it had served him well in parenting. 

 

Bilbo had only babysat some of his younger cousins. He picked up the basics and more quickly, though, and had a good eye for if Floí was about to get too tired or hungry or overwhelmed and needed a break. Bilbo was so, so physically affectionate with his boy; Thorin had been taken aback, at first, at how often and how lovingly he touched his child once Floí allowed it. 

 

Maybe he had been lonely for too long, Thorin wondered. It sounded like the Shire was backwards, like towns of men could be, which meant Bilbo had been denied loving touch for too long. And with his family gone, that source of affection was gone as well. Bilbo seemed determined not to allow Floí to fall into the cracks the same way, but Thorin could see it was good for Bilbo, too.

 

Bilbo ruffled Floí’s hair, laughing at something clever the lad had said, and pulled the boy along to come see Thorin and tell him what he’d said. Thorin felt his heart swell in his chest and promised himself then and there to ask for Bilbo’s affections as soon as he had a chance.

  
  


Months later, that chance had not yet arrived. Thorin and Bilbo had settled into a comfortable routine, with Floí sleeping with whichever of them he wanted that night and all of them having breakfast and dinner together. Some nights, Floí cuddled up to Bilbo, seeming to revel in skin contact and a constant presence, and other nights, he chose to flop across the bed next to Thorin after Thorin painstakingly braided his hair back for the night. 

 

Yuletide rolled around, as it always did, and Bilbo taught them both his hobbit traditions for midwinter celebration, while Thorin and Floí showed him theirs. Bilbo rather liked the dwarrow way of celebrating, with the shining metal and gem baubles strung in their hair and beards and handcrafted representations of winter decorating the halls. In the Shire, they simply hung greens and what flowers or bright berries could be found, and it paled in comparison. He missed the smell of evergreen in the air, though, and one day he dragged Thorin, Floí, and most of the royal guard out of the mountain to cut boughs of spruce and pine.

 

Floí helped Bilbo wrap his gifts for the Company, and with cooking the Yule feast. He passed around drinks when the Company gathered in the royal quarter’s receiving rooms, fire crackling and roaring, scent of pine and mulled cider and good food hanging in the air. The dwarfling laughed and laughed at the toys the Company spoiled him with, cooing over a tiny lifelike doll that would bat its eyes and squealing over a little animated miner striking the stone as he searched for gems. 

 

At the end of the night Bilbo had a lapful of tired dwarf-child, curled up and drowsing in the warmth of the fire, and his friends stopped over to thank him and wish him well before heading to their own homes again.

Last was Thorin, who gently scooped Floí up and deposited him back down onto their laps after he’d seated himself. Bilbo and Thorin pressed close, their sides a solid connecting line, their son in their laps. Bilbo was full of good hobbit food, and he had family and friends for the first solstice in many years, and it was warm, and he might have blamed what happened next on the cider if he’d been ashamed. He wasn’t.

 

He leaned up a little, like he had something to say, and when Thorin leaned down attentively to listen Bilbo brushed his lips against Thorin’s cheek in a kiss. Thorin turned his face towards him in surprise, and Bilbo took that opportunity to press another kiss to Thorin’s lips, and Thorin melted.

 

Bilbo had always thought Thorin might freeze, or jerk back, if Bilbo kissed him. Thorin actually melted, the tension in his body suddenly gone as he leaned into it and brought his hand up to cup Bilbo’s face. They kissed slowly, gently, and then parted, mindful of the sleeping child in their laps.

 

“I have wanted to do that for a very long time,” Thorin whispered. Bilbo smiled.

 

“As have I.” Thorin smiled back, and Bilbo laid his head down against Thorin’s shoulder and sighed happily.

  
There might have been more they needed to say, and they would speak more soon, but for now, they were the most content they’d ever been, and warm bellies and warm hearts and warm laps had them fast asleep on the couch before the fireplace even sooner. 

**Author's Note:**

> Floi, who in LOTR dies in the expedition to retake Khazad-dum, but in this AU lives happily in Erebor for all his days. (Except summers spent in the Shire.) Yubi, you said “no one dying,” but I had an epic fit of reading comprehension failure, and by the time I noticed I had this half done and only a few hours left until it was due. D: I’m sorry darling! Hopefully you still enjoy it!


End file.
